


All the Rebellious Things I'll Do

by Trubbishly



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: AU, Character Death, Ghetsis wins AU, Mental Illness, Multi, Pokemon: now with guns, Political upheaval, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebellion, lots of background characters, there is violence but it won't be too graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trubbishly/pseuds/Trubbishly
Summary: (Inspired by Ghetsis' dialogue from episode RR in Ultra Sun/Moon.)Unova isn't peaceful anymore. With the overthrow of the League, democracy has been flipped on its axis. Fights between rebel groups and the new government happen daily. With no Pokemon as defense, man-made weapons start to surface.This is exactly what N didn't want. Now, he must face the dire consequences. Whether he faces them with or without righting his wrongs...well, that's up to fate.





	1. Take the shot, I dare you.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry. There will still be plenty of N in this, no matter what happened to him at the beginning :^) Also, hopefully the next chapter won't be so short.
> 
> (I actually have no idea how this story will end. Oh well, guess that makes it more exciting.)  
> 

“Get on your knees.”

The king fell before the crowd. Placing his hands in the dust, the young king let his head sink and curls of hair block his vision. Only the dust and his own scarred hands greeted his sinking gaze.

A gun, heavy and black, met his forehead. 

“No fighting back? Pitiful. Has our king lost his sense of shame?”

The long-haired king said nothing. The crowd only murmured, tensing at the thought of unpredictable consequences, readying for the shot.

“Your parliament wouldn’t agree to the ransom. They aren’t afraid of us yet.”

She pressed the gun harder against his head, hand shivering. The king’s hands were no different. They trembled in the dust from the pain of suppressed fear.

“This will teach them to be.”

The lost king sunk further, and the pressure of the gun followed him. 

He spoke at last, “They are afraid. That’s why they left me to you. This is what they want. They are afraid.”

“And are you afraid?”

“Not at all.”

-

It had been one full week since the young king’s death. The whole debacle had been rather sudden. Any knights or grunts who had gotten word were told to keep quiet about it until Ghetsis finished preparations for the next in line. It was best to prevent the news from spreading. 

“Hold back your grief,” was what the old sage asked of them.

It wasn’t easy. King N was charming, motivated, and quite odd. His eccentricities could be alarming at times, like his short temper and ruthless sense of justice, but the grunts respected him. They would often fight for his attention. Philosophical conversations were his forte, and he always had something interesting to say.  
Regardless, N’s sudden death was nothing short of a tragedy.

And yet, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. 

Among the grunts that knew… or rather, the grunts that cared (not everyone was fond of N), a creeping sense of dread cemented after N gained control of Unova. Something had changed. The king was suddenly quiet. No more philosophical arguments in the dining hall. No more eccentric run-ins in the hallways. He was jumpy and skittish, even more so than he usually was. Something was very wrong.

They just didn’t know what.

But, now that King N was gone, was there a point in knowing? Questions stopped. Suspicion disappeared. The grunts focused on keeping their grief to themselves. 

And for their own sakes, they hoped it wouldn’t be long before the word got out.


	2. How to be saved figuratively and literally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More characters are revealed through some slightly trippy time skips.  
> Hugh says he'll kick ass, but ends up defending someone.
> 
> ((Trigger warning: mentions of abuse/manipulation, starvation (not to death), guns, and some minor swearing))

Clouds of the same shape stared up at him. They patterned the floor, dull and scratched in some places from age and wear. He had counted them backwards and forewords many times. One hundred fourteen. N did not like the false sky. Not all skies had one hundred fourteen clouds.

Not all trains were bright and pastel colors. No tracks simply went in a circle. Basketball hoops were never meant to be in a room that size. Clouds were not all one shape. The sky was not always blue, and it certainly wasn’t supposed to be on the floor. The young king grew wearier of the room. N counted the clouds on the floor again and again. He threw his darts at the picture frames instead of the target. Toy trains left the track, scattered across the cloudy floor and hidden at the tops of the skateboard ramp. Because they were not real, they didn’t need to stay on the tracks. Why hadn’t he realized this sooner? He grew wearier. The real world seemed less and less real.

Eventually, the king stopped. He spent his days sprawled on the dying blue floor, counting the clouds in view and making dull conversation with the planes and trains and plush Pokemon that accompanied him. His appetite faded like paint. Even water had to be forced down at times by concerned knights and sages. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. His world wasn’t meant to be a toy box. He was the king. He had a country. He had the real world.

And yet, here he was, a marionette strangling in his own strings, locked in a cupboard. 

During visiting hours, the knights would drag him out of that room. The bright lights caused him to shrink in his white robes. He would sit on his throne for hours and listen to his people bring their complaints to him. Complaints he could do nothing about. All his answers were fed to him, whispered in his ear, threats lingering behind every word. He wanted to scream. He wanted to beg them for forgiveness. The sneers on their faces made his eyes sting. If only he didn’t have a knife at his back at every waking moment.

Oh, the things he’d do.

-

“Now what are we supposed to do?”

Rosa rammed her boot against a crate in the corner of the tent. She swore at the pain in her foot and many other things.

“I wouldn’t know,” sighed a heavily built man who was massaging his tanned face in his hands. “Until the news spreads, we still have our bargaining power. But, I don’t know how long we have.” His bluish hair was slicked back with sweat.

Rosa dropped in frustration, crossing her arms and legs after she reached the ground with a frighteningly loud thud. She muttered another swear under her breath. She slammed her back against the crate and continued in her angry murmurings in a stiff lounging position.

The first man sighed and ran his fingers across his poorly shaved jaw. His black hair that wasn’t threaded through a ponytail frayed in many directions, visible as thin lines in front of his forehead. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he crooned tiredly, “I bet most of us couldn’t have done it either.”

“I would’ve done it, Cheren!” Rosa spat back, “If that damn gunman hadn’t shot my gun out of my hands!”

“It’s fine to admit defeat, Rosa. It’s not easy to kill someone. You’re just a kid and no one should’ve been heartless enough to put you up that. It was heinous decision, if you ask me,” said the other man into his hands.

“Screw you, Marlon! No one has time to be kids anymore,” she hissed.

“Speaking of the gunman,” Cheren interrupted coolly, “how is he?”

“Damn near hysterical last time I saw him,” Marlon responded, removing his palms from his weary face. “Wasn’t pleased about getting restrained. Also freaking out about ‘shootin someone’s finger off’”. 

All ten fingers remained on Rosa’s hands. She flexed them in front of her face. “Tell him if he was aiming for the fingers that his aim effing sucks.”

“I’m sure he’ll be relieved to know.”

Cheren cracked a smile before rubbing his forehead. “This fiasco is giving me such a headache,” he sighed.

“Preach it,” Rosa hummed as she stretched her arms into the air and wilted tiredly against the crate.

Her nap lasted a good thirty minutes.

“Holy crap, do you know how worried I was?” blabbered Hugh, Rosa’s excitable friend, after he burst through the tent flap.

“Kept all my parts,” Rosa responded groggily as she pushed herself up. She still hadn’t gotten used to sleeping on the ground since entering the rebellion. Her hips hurt. 

“Thank Victini for that,” Hugh sighed as he led his sleepy friend by her arm out into the early spring air. “Why in the world didn’t you tell me you were given a gun?”

“Eh, it never came up, I guess,” Rosa yawned. “Didn’t think it was too important,” she lied as they continued to walk.

Hugh hit her hard on the shoulder and half-teased, “Ok, Hotshot. Didn’t think getting order to execute the king was ‘important’? Sure. It’s totally normal for teens to get their own gun.”

“It’s not normal for anyone to get their own gun. That’s why we need Pokemon.”

They both feel silent for a moment.

“I really need to hang out with Tepig more often,” Hugh mentioned guiltily, “I’ve been so busy.”

Rosa put a sore arm around his shoulders, “I get you, I’ve been busy too. You know, with assassinations to prepare for, kings to execute. I wanna check on Snivy now.” 

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Hugh snorted sarcastically as he shoved her off, laughing.

“Actually,” Rosa mused, stopping and standing, “I want to check out the gunman that shot at me first. I have a lot to say to him. Wanna come with?”

“Totally. I’ll kick his ass.”

-

He had been trembling in the corner for what felt like forever. The encampment outside was in chaos. Feet tripped and shuffled about. Shouts and orders rang out. 

After months of relative peace deep inside the forest, he felt hopeless and confused. In the grand scheme of things, what could a kid like him do? No. In a time like this, what would a kid like him be willing to do?

Eventually, the foots steps and shouting seemed quieter. The boy lifted his scraggly head. He let go of his knees and stood up, trembling in the dark. Light streamed in through the bottom of the tent flap. He inched closer to it and pressed his ear against the cold fabric.

“He’s gone! He just up and left with them!”

The boy wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. What could he do? Peering at the strip of light in the darkness, he thought. Stress pulsed in his ears and forehead. He had to do something. He had to think.

“Look, Nate. I never want it to come to this, but if those people come here, I need you to take this,” the old man had pulled a dull, silvery pistol from beneath the sagging mattress. “You’re a good aim.”

“But I’ve not ever aimed at people! I don’t want to,” Nate had stuttered. Suddenly, the gun had looked much more heavy and dangerous than it had at target practice.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to burden you with this. But, we’re living through a funny time, aren’t we?”

His brown eye’s widened and he felt his chest flare and his hands stiffen. Giving one last sideways glance to the light beneath the front flap, he wiggled ever-so-quietly beneath the loose back of the tent and went to search for his weapon.

-

The king spoke at last, “They are afraid. That’s why they left me to you. This is what they want. They are afraid.”

“And are you afraid?”

“Not at all.”

Rosa felt herself trembling with many emotions. Compassion and fear rallied in her chest against the anger in her throat. Her hands felt weak, her fingers numb. Now was the time. She wanted to blast his brains out for the three years Unova had lost, for lives that were ruined in that time, and the bonds that were severed. He deserved to die. He needed to, but the soft acceptance in his voice grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

The time to shoot was now.

A gunshot sounded. The crowd trembled and shouted out.

It all happened too fast. The sound wasn’t coming from her own gun, but somewhere off in the crowd. Almost an infinity later, after feeling the milliseconds tick by, a loud thwang vibrated in front of her. Her knuckles and the back of her hands stung and sizzled. She dropped the gun to the dust and fell next to it, defeated, clutching her stinging hands to her chest. The lost king clutched his head and shook, humming a panicked, tuneless song to himself.

They were saved.  
-  
“Screw you.”

Rosa didn’t know what infuriated her more: the cowardly look on his face or the fact that he was her age. If there wasn’t an incredibly muscular guard standing next to him, she would’ve already lunged at the shivering gunman.

She shouted at him, “You dumbass! You could’ve easily killed me or your stupid king if you missed!”

“But I didn’t. Everyone’s fine,” he whimpered. “You hesitated, and I took a chance.”

Hugh found himself holding his infuriated friend back. He quickly locked his arms around Rosa’s shoulders, where his interlocked hands met in front of her chest. This maneuver would’ve likely gotten him bitten if they weren’t as close companions as they were. Unfortunately, she was plenty bulkier than he was, and he had to dig his heels into the floor to hold her.

“SCREW YOU! What do you know?” she fumed. “I don’t know what game your playing at, but you’re helping the enemy! The king should be dead. He should be SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE GROUND!”

The brown-haired boy hung his head and scrunched up his face, wishing his hands weren’t tied so he could simply cover his ears. “You disgust me,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?” Rosa hissed, ripping one arm free of Hugh’s grasp.

“Please, I must ask you to leave,” warned the previously silent guard. Her face was tired and her patience thinning. 

Hugh nodded quickly and dragged the heated girl from area. Rosa complied reluctantly, if only afraid of the guard’s muscles.

She spat at the air. “We’re all disgusting, if you ask me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darn it, I made it super short again. This is supposed to be about N and hardly any of this is from his perspective. 
> 
> Oops.


	3. You have no power here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N injures himself in a panic, and Cheren gets mad about his cryptic language.
> 
> ((TW: Abuse, yet another assassination attempt, implied self-harm))

They restrained the king with ropes and gagged him with an off-white cloth. A cramped storage tent was his temporary holding place. None of the rebels knew why he hadn’t been disposed of yet, and yet they somehow understood the reasons. 

After the gunshot and the settling of dust, the crowd was shocked into silence. Mouths gaped. Glances were exchanged. People had parted way to reveal the armed intruder, the savior, who was merely a young boy, trembling with an old-fashioned pistol in his hands. Eyes shifted between the two scenes. The pathetic king, disturbed and muttering to himself, knelt next to the gun and the startled girl who couldn’t kill him. The pathetic boy crumpled to his knees from relief and realization. The metallic pistol fell from his hands to the dust.

Everyone understood the reasons. If their bargaining chip lived, they still had a chance to threaten the consul to do their bidding (or at least, a bit of it). This was the most obvious reason, and the reason they liked to believe. Then there was the boy. Some boy from who-knows-where snuck into a rebel camp, risked himself, and stopped an assassination all on his own. One boy on his own. It was like a sign. A message. This was the reason they didn’t want to believe. N was still alive and perhaps he was meant to stay that way for now. They wanted him dead. And yet, when the gun shot sounded and there was no blood, no dead body, everyone was satisfied. This was the outcome everyone truly wanted. They didn’t like to believe it.

“You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep breathing like that.”

That’s exactly what he wasn’t trying to do. The gag wasn’t helping. 

N’s brain was shooting around at a hundred miles a minute. He was trying to keep his breathing even as the panic rose and sunk erratically in his chest. Counting in his head usually helped, but his Fibonacci number strings were getting jumbled. Pi wasn’t working out either. He stuck with counting to ten.  
“How long is our shift? I don’t know how long my nerves can take this,” whispered one guard to the other. N could still hear him.

One-two-three. Four-five. Six. Six-seven-eight. Eight. Eight-nine-ten. 

It was hard to relegate each number to just one second, one breath, when all he wanted to do was play the events of the past few weeks on five times speed in his head. He’d accepted his death three times and three times he’d lived. Fate was playing nasty tricks on him. The fallen king almost felt like laughing through his gag.

“What is he doing?” said the first guard, turning his head to look worriedly at the king for the first time since he’d started his shift.

The laughing must’ve slipped out. It didn’t really sound like laughing. Strangled and breathy, his sounds were distorted even further by the rag in his mouth. No wonder the guard was confused. This only made the sound spill out harder, uncontrollably so. N realized he was devolving into hysterics. He wanted to cover his face with his hands, but they were bound tightly by ropes. He hung his head instead and disappeared under his green curls. He’d already been humiliated by his (unsuccessful) executioner, and he didn’t have to strength to have similar words tossed his way so soon. The panic in his body didn’t seem to care how he felt.

“Crap, is he suffocating?” the second guard exclaimed as he floundered up from the crate he was sitting on, causing the crate to squeak as he struggled for balance. “He’s suffocating.”

The first guard slid down from his own seat as his companion quickly shifted to the king’s side. He observed in wordless confusion through his uneven orange bangs as the other guard hovered helplessly for a moment. The captive curled further into himself at the guard’s close presence. 

“I can just take it off, right? I’m taking it off,” the guard blabbered to himself as he struggled to undo the knot in the rag with his shaky hands. He ended up sliding it off. He wanted to kick whoever tied the knot so hard.

N found himself gasping for air. Tears welled up in his right eye, weaker in his injured left, and he struggled to fight them back. He moved his head again to block his sorry state with his tangled green hair and gulped down more air.

The guard that freed him hit him hard on the back, “Take it easy!”

He tried to take the message to heart. A few slower, deeper breaths later, more noises crawled up his throat. The king proceeded to hit his head against the barrel in front of him.

-

“So, how’s our captive king holding up?” Cheren asked absentmindedly, mockery clinging to his words as he shuffled through the mess of strategic maps that was Lenora’s floor. 

“He tried to escape,” said one guard sheepishly. “We think.”

Cheren nodded at first, lifting a piece of parchment and beginning to roll it gently in his hands. Then he realized something, blinked, and looked up. “You think?” he puzzled, “Weren’t you watching him?” 

“Yes, we were,” the other guard said hesitantly, “but he suddenly started struggling.”

“That’s why we’re here,” admitted the first as he nervously took a step towards Cheren.

Cheren stood up with a deep sigh, leaving the maps in their mess beneath him. The one map he rolled up before he twisted in his hands. His dark eyes sternly and wordlessly asked the young man to continue.

“We got some other guards and a medic to watch over him temporarily,” he stated, brushing his bangs aside and picking up the courage to look the rough young man in the eyes. “He’s injured his head.”

-

The world had rung and dimmed. Everything had gone black.

When the exhausted king awoke, he felt a sharp throbbing on his forehead. Something pressed against it, trying to repress the pain. Something cool. Something smooth, or perhaps something soft. He wasn’t good at determining sensations anymore. It didn’t help that half of his face had been charred. The skin there had been rendered unfeeling. 

As his sticky vision cleared, he quickly observed his surroundings without stirring too much. His nerves were on edge, making him ready to jump up if need be despite his aching head. The space he was in was another tent, but it felt bigger than the previous one, perhaps only because it wasn’t filled to the brim with crates and supplies. Two new guards hunched by the wide opening of the tent. Evening light spilled into tent. He could just make out the colorful sky peeking out from corner of the opening. This pleased him, and his nervousness ebbed.

“Up so soon?”

N felt his insides jump. The voice had come from right behind him and it abruptly ended his moment of peace. His stupor was fully lifted. He tried to shoot upward and face the speaker defensively. He feared another knife to his back, a blade against his throat. But the pain in his head surged at the thought of fighting gravity, and he melted back down before his head lifted from the ground. A wounded sigh lifted from his lips.

“You shouldn’t be getting up so fast with your head like that,” commented the voice, “besides, if you did anything I’d have to ask the guards to tackle you.”

A guard waved at him. N grimaced.

“Am I allowed to ask…what happened?” he muttered as he winced at the sound of his own voice. He expected no answer.

The owner of the voice scooted around to N’s side to let his patient have a proper view of him. He was a stout and small man with plain spectacles and a thin head of black hair. His worn hands were placed thoughtfully in his lap when he settled at N’s side. A battered white lab coat adorned him.

“From what I’ve heard, you hit your head repeatedly against a crate after being approached by guards,” the doctor informed. “There’s better ways to put up a fight you know.”

“I can assure you I wasn’t trying to fight them,” the dizzy king noted, half to himself.

“Is that so?” the smallish man mused.

No answer was offered by N. He frowned, closing his gray eyes tightly, trying to squeeze the throbbing sensation out of his forehead. There was an answer, but he didn’t want to give it. Humiliation was the king’s enemy. This enemy he was all too familiar with. Every word he spoke was a double-edged sword, and he would not let the answer slip out to anyone, not just the smiling bespectacled man.

“Ah, I see how it is,” chortled the doctor as he shifted off his knees and into a more comfortable sitting position. “That’s too bad.”

N’s eyes were open now, but only slightly. He ignored the doctor’s face and the guards. N kept watching the only visible bit of sky through the opening. A wispy cloud passed through, darkened in the dying light.

The laughter in the small doctor’s voice peeved the injured king. “Must you be so jovial?” N sighed at his company. 

The doctor blinked at the comment behind his glasses. He looked down at the king’s face and saw the distant look in his hazy eyes. A reddish bruise had formed on the center of the young man’s forehead. It seemed to blend in with the rest of his sore face. Dark burns distorted the left side, warping the corner of his lip, and forcing his left eye into a perpetual squint. The doctor could tell these were not old scars. This fact made him wonder about many things.

“Pardon me, but I am a doctor,” the bespectacled man notified N with a twinge of satisfaction. “I like to treat my patients with kindness, no matter who they may be. Especially ones with massive headaches.”

N scoffed wistfully as he let his eyes flicker closed once more, “If only all doctors thought like that.”

The doctor did not know how to respond, and he did not try to. He merely sat and observed his patient like he was supposed to, and soon returned to pressing a cool cloth against his forehead. N wrinkled his face at this but said no more. Quickly, the king found himself flitting in and out of sleep, his tiredness taking over.

Movement startled him awake. The guards had stood up to greet someone. Pressure was no longer being applied to N’s head, and he flicked his gaze to the side to see the doctor standing up expectantly.

“Marlon, sir!” one guard greeted. “Would you like us to escort the prisoner?”

A tall, well built man stood in the opening. N could just make out the bluish tint to his hair in the low-light of dusk. “Yes, if he can stand. Lenora and Cheren have requested his appearance,” Marlon informed.

“Couldn’t they just come here?” the doctor protested from above N as the guards began to shuffle over.

“Sorry, Dr. Hawes. They specifically requested for him to be brought over,” Marlon sighed with a shrug. “Something about confidentiality or whatever. You’ll have to wait here.”

Dr. Hawes sighed too. “If he collapses, don’t blame me.”

N tried to pull himself upwards, but his head spun. Much to his chagrin, the smiling doctor (now stern) crouched down and put an arm against his back to balance him.

“We’ll call if we need you,” Marlon apologized. “Again, I’m sorry my dude.”

Hawes nodded solemnly as he let the two guards pull the dizzy prisoner upward and away from him. Lights swam in N’s vision briefly, causing him to dip, and the guards put his arms over their shoulders as they moved him out of the tent. Marlon gave a final nod to the doctor before exiting. Hawes sat there in the lonely silence. He wondered why N hit his head as he rung the now warm cloth out in his hands. He wondered where the burns came from.

-

It had felt like a dream. If Cheren was honest with himself, it still did. He could still vividly remember his house in Nuvema, the house he knew was abandoned and overgrown by now. He remembered going to school and spending summer evenings tossing pebbles into the cold ocean with his best friends. Homework was his priority then. He could’ve never imagined leading a rebellion against the government. All he’d wanted was to get good grades, so he could go on a journey with his friends and become a Pokemon master. Now, everything he’d ever desired was gone. He missed sleeping in a real bed. He missed his parents. His Pokemon. His best friends.

Now all he had was a messy tent and a camp full of rebels that looked up to him for guidance 24/7. 

His head was in his hands, glasses pushed up and pinching his skin. Warm light was cast by a gas lamp over his half-organized mess of papers. He’d been working on this strategy for hours. His head was killing him. He just wanted to curl up with a book and a cup of coffee. God, he missed coffee. He couldn’t wait for his chance to go into town and buy a decent cup of coffee.

“You alright in there?”

He felt a sturdy, kind hand against his sore back. Lenora had been organizing some maps and plans next to him. After being forced to move to Nacrene, Cheren had found solace in the libraries that Lenora kept in her museum. That was, of course, until the museum ran out of money. It was a hard time for them both. He was like a student to her, and a friend, and now they were forced to cooperate as leaders.

Cheren took a deep breath and massaged his head, “Yeah, just headachy. This is a ton of info.” He sifted through hurried transcripts of coded rebel messages. “I wonder how long it will take for the consul to find out N’s not dead. And how are we going deal with them when they do?”

“To answer both of your questions: I don’t know,” Lenora stated honestly. She looked just as tired, if not more.

The tent flaps rustled. Both looked up.

“Cheren, I’m coming in. We’ve got you-know-who with us,” the voice of Marlon sounded from behind the heavy fabric.

“You could be a little less obvious,” Cheren grunted as he rose, papers in hand. “Come in.”

Marlon came in first and saw Cheren and Lenora shuffling to hide their plans away. The two guards followed with the wilting prisoner held between them. To N’s disappointment, he had been blindfolded. He would’ve liked to see the sky.

After closing the large tent’s flap, the guards sunk to their knees and brought N with them. They slipped his arms of their shoulders. His head hung dizzily.

“Would you two mind waiting outside?” Lenora requested as she sat back down.

“No ma’am, we understand” said one. The other nodded, and they both rose together, leaving the tent to guard just outside.

Marlon quickly sat down and briskly took N’s arm, “Don’t get any ideas, man.” 

The strong, sudden grip made N flinch. “Am I allowed to see who I’m talking to, or are you going to keep the blindfold on?” he grumbled.

Cheren sat cross-legged beside Lenora and directly in front of N. “Let him take it off, Marlon. I want him to look at me when I talk to him.”

Although the lights were warm and dim, they still hurt N’s tired eyes. He closed them almost as soon as the blindfold was removed. A grimace crossed his face. He wished now that he didn’t have to hit his head like that. 

Eventually, he opened his right eye. In front of him, a rugged young man with reddish glasses sternly observed him. He had obvious bags under his eyes, and he seemed very mad about being interrupted despite being the one who ordered the meeting. The large woman next to him was weary, but her anger did not slip onto her face so easily.

“N Harmonia, you are one damn lucky man,” said Cheren with a hiss.

N let his left eye flicker open as much as it could beneath his scarred skin. He bobbed his head in a drunken-looking nod. “I suppose.”

A huff was Cheren’s response before he continued, “Do you know a Nate Hernandez? How did you get in contact with him despite our constant surveillance?”

N frowned. The name was vaguely familiar, but then again, most felt like they were. He was awful with names and had given up on them long ago. “No. Do you think I am some sort of psychic? If you think so, you’ve been painfully misinformed,” responded the captive irritably. “Lucky, you said. Yes. I expected to die, not be saved. I don’t know what happened. I swear.”

It took all of Cheren’s effort not to sneer. His jaw was so tense he felt like his teeth would break. He snarled with composure, “All that I know is that to us, you are no king. Like it or not, we are the authority here. We aren’t afraid to kill you. Pull anything and we’ll have the guards snap your neck, is that clear? You have no power here.”

“No power? Oh yes,” N breathed disdainfully, “I understand perfectly.” It was painful how little they knew.

“Don’t talk back to me. You have no room to speak like that,” Cheren retorted.

All of this felt frivolous. N didn’t understand why they hadn’t gotten it over with and snapped his neck already. He hung his head to get away from the stares and the light. “What do you want with me?” he asked miserably. It was too hard to keep his feelings from seeping into his voice.

Cheren bit back and insult when he felt Lenora staring him down. “With you? Nothing. We want you to stay quiet and wait. You are our pawn. If you’re lucky, you’ll be back into the hands of your consul with a new set of laws and solutions under your belt.” 

“Lucky?” N was unable to take anything this other young man was saying seriously. A small, strangled laughed danced from his mouth.

It was painful, and if his head didn’t hurt so much, he would’ve found himself in another fit of hysterical, nervous laughter. None of rebels’ plans would work. If only  
Cheren knew the true state of the castle. If only he knew about how everything was out of the king’s control, about how every waking moment threats were held at his throat. He wanted to be reserved, kingly, and calm like how he was meant to be as a king. But it was impossible, just as impossible as getting Cheren to believe him if he spoke these truths.

“You should just kill me now. We’d all be so much better off,” N said bitterly.

Lenora and Cheren exchanged glances. Marlon squeezed his arm harder as if telling him to stop.

“Are you not taking this seriously? Do you not understand your situation?” hissed Cheren.

“I do not jest,” N said blankly, not looking at interrogator.

-

That day felt like all the other long, boring days before it. The king had a nice conversation with the pile of plushies and plastic vehicles against the wall about all the things he wished to say to his people but couldn’t. He had been curled up on the bluish floor with his hands clutched to his chest, observing a soft cubchoo toy and noting how much it wasn’t like the real thing, when the knights came to take him out.

It was perfectly normal. They dragged him up by his arms and held tight to him as he limped on weak legs out of the room into the blinding lights of the hall. N wasn’t elated to sit dreary eyed on the throne, spouting lies to his people. Then again, nothing truly made him happy anymore, and lies were all he knew.

But something was wrong. They dragged him to the thrown every day at the same time, in the same direction. On that day they turned a different corner. His mind leapt in his head and he felt his legs grow heavier. N’s feet dragged, but the knights kept pulling him in that new direction. His chest and stomach clenched, and he fought back the urge to lash out. There was no point in fighting two people much stronger and healthier than he.

They reached a set of tall, dark wood doors. Breath caught in the king’s chest as one guard reached out to knock on the immense doors. Solid, heavy knocking throbbed thrice in his ears and echoed down the hall.

“Come in,” a distant, but deep voice called from beyond the door.

N felt his knees go. Ghetsis.

As soon as the knight managed to prop the heavy door open, the other slipped the disoriented king through. They abandoned him with a soft thud and let the door slide to a close. N wanted to order them back to his side. But he had no power here.

Across the large, barren room stood Ghetsis in his heavy, golden consul robes. His pale hair was well groomed and shone in the dim light. There was a small smile teasing on his crooked face. Fear forced N upward. He braced himself against the door, composing himself by straightening his back and taking a deep breath.

“Thank you for the rude escort. You could’ve given me a proper warning about this,” N forced out.

Ghetsis slowly began his march across the great room. “Ah yes, so sorry about them,” he projected, still grinning.

The king allowed himself to frown and his brow to wrinkle. “What do you want?”

“Oh, just to chat. I have many important things to discuss,” the old man said as he approached.

“Really, now. Since when?” N challenged. 

His heart skipped a beat as Ghetsis walked confidently forward. He began to inch away from the door and towards the wall, trying to circle his old father and stay away for as long as possible. Whatever he wanted to discuss, it wouldn’t be good. The old man neared. There was now a clear grin plastered on his face. N continued to circle and stare down his opponent. Ghetsis would not let his back turn to the young king, and he began to circle too, like a searching sharpedo.

“You mustn’t stare at me like that, my king,” Ghetsis mocked. His eyes flamed in a dangerous way. “What sort of king distrusts his own court?”

N had finally circled to the other side of the room, and in that moment he realized he’d walked himself into a corner trying to get away. He observed his surroundings with horror. There was the door across from him, with Ghetsis before it. A blaze roared in the old man’s reddish eyes. N felt himself shrink and his heart crawl into his throat as Ghetsis reached into his robes.

A disgustingly large smile split across Ghetsis’ face. “Yes, what good is a king like you anyway?”

Red light flashed from Ghetsis’ hand. N found himself bolting to the far end of the massive hall. He felt suddenly hot in his heavy white robes. Looking back, what he saw and heard made his stomach lurch. A dark beast of three heads roared after him, furious after being disturbed by its release. Nothing but gibberish and violence leaked from its three jaws. The man-eater, the knights and consul called it. Now he was cornered by it.

“Come now, boy. You have nowhere to run,” Ghetsis called out. “No one likes a cowardly king. I’ll be glad to see you gone.”

Hydreigon opened its dark maw. 

“Say your farewells. Hydreigon, Dragon Pulse!”

-

Cheren felt himself reaching out, but before he could fly off the handle, Lenora put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head, which made her untamed curls bounce.

The woman finally took her turn to speak, “If you do not jest, then by all means, explain.”

N did not want to explain. There was no point in explaining if they would not believe him. He had no power. He never had. None of his own people listened, so why would his enemies? For a moment, he clenched his jaw.

“They’d…the consul, I mean. They’d be happy if you shot me for them,” he managed.  
Cheren rose to his knees. He was fuming, and he reached out and grabbed the captive by his mess of long, curly hair. Lenora did not stop him this time. She only watched with hidden bewilderment. Marlon’s bewilderment, however, was apparent as shock on his face.

“What exactly are you insinuating?” commanded Cheren as he pulled the shrinking man upward. “Don’t keep valuable information from us!”

N was not sure what Cheren considered valuable information, but he desperately wanted the young man to let go of his hair. He spoke with a quivering voice, “They tried to assassinate me, and I gave them a hard time.” He paused, bringing his hands to his chest. “Wouldn’t it be convenient if someone else shot me instead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the other two combined. And yet, less happens. Huh.
> 
> Also...I /really/ need to learn how to italicize things on here. There was meant to be a lot of italicized words in this chapter.


	4. Secret science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N is tired of everything, especially Dr. Hawes. Bianca (and Nate?) join the squad.
> 
> ((Trigger warning for suicide attempt and violence))

His eyelids were heavy that morning. Chattering and busy movement whisked by his tent now and then. Daylight illuminated the tent fabric, making it glow with an orangish hue, and streamed in under the tent flap. The former king was not motivated to rise from his cot. Sometimes a head would peak in, only to see him feign sleep. They would then leave him morosely. N rested there, dreary eyed, listening to the sing-song conversation of birds and bugs above his tent. He’d missed these voices. But, they now felt distant and foreign. Bird song continued without him in mind.

The white noise of talk and song dispersed in a chittering of distress. N’s eyes fluttered quickly open and he strained his ears for an answer. All was dead silent for a moment. N stiffened nervously beneath his dusty sheets. And suddenly, he heard human calls at the far end of the hidden, woodland encampment. Their words were too distant to decipher.

More silence followed. Sometimes quiet footsteps would pass by, or someone muttering under their breath as they curiously, fearfully went to check on what had caused the commotion. N felt too sticky, warm, and useless to do the same.

A woman suddenly and quietly appeared through the tent’s opening. N startled beneath his sheets at the appearance. Only when he realized it was his sister, Concordia, did he relax, but the worried frown on her face made him unsettled.

Hurriedly, she shuffled over to him and heaved him up by his arm. She dipped down as his knees went out beneath him, supporting him until she could safely let him sit on the floor.

“Are you having trouble standing again?” she said with unusual quietness as she swept to the corner of the room to find clothes.

He said an equally quiet, “I s’pose,” while feeling foolish about sitting on the floor in his undergarments as his sister hurried herself with something.

She tossed a gray Plasma uniform at him, complete with a hood and the small rebellion’s re-stitched logo. He felt himself repressing a slew of bad, but happier memories as he held the gray fabric.

“Put this on and cover your hair,” she commanded in a whisper. “I’ll explain later.”

The urgency in her voice made him hasten, and soon the two adopted siblings made their way into the open air. Concordia grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him with purpose across the camp, moving with elegance and stealth behind tents and shadows. N kept his hood up and head down. If whoever he was hiding from saw him, he prayed his newfound scars would confuse his identity.

Concordia abruptly pulled him behind a tent as they neared a group of talking people. Her braid whipped fiercely as she did so, and the two of them crouched down. Finger to her lips ordering silence, Concordia turned her head slightly to listen.

“Look, we said that wasn’t the deal, alright? We aren’t here to bargain, we’re here to take what we need and go. Bring us to the sage.”

“I’m sorry. We will not cooperate or stand for your harassment. Get out of our camp or learn some human decency. We can’t have you kidnapping our members.”

N tried hard to listen from beside Concordia.

“I don’t think you people understand your situation. We told you we have weapons with us, and we can and will use them if you don’t cooperate. There’s no way in hell we’re being friendly with a bunch of Plasmas.”

Before N could make heads or tails of the conversation, Concordia turned her head to him and whispered nervously, “Get up. We need to get out of here. Now.” 

His sister rose as softly as possible, helping him upward as she went. Her left hand looked like snow compared to the scarred hand she was holding tightly. 

A dismayed grunt happened to look their way as they steadied themselves. She saw the citrus yellow braid and a smile of relief broke across her face. Concordia. Goddess of harmony, they called her. Her elegant ferocity allowed her to bring reason to any conversation.

The grunt called out her name desperately, “Concordia!” 

Concordia froze. N could feel her heartbeat thudding in her hand as she squeezed him. Her brown eyes begged him to stay silent before she turned to face the group of grunts and intruders. N felt frozen in place.

False softness took over her face. She smiled pleasantly and greeted them as if she hadn’t noticed them there before, “Oh, hello!”

The grunts eyed her pleadingly and reached out to her. White, translucent cloth billowed about her ankles as she moved. She appeared like the goddess she pretended to be, if only a little muddy on her skirt. Locking eyes with the off-put intruders, she let her face fall slack.

“Who are you, may I ask?”

“Members of the Citizen’s Rebellion,” stated one flatly, avoiding her stare.

“Why do you bring weapons to my camp?”

The rebels were temporarily bewildered and glanced at each other. It was like they thought the guns on their belts were invisible, or like the conversation they just had was moot. A disappointed look briefly flashed across the goddess’ face.

“It’s taken us a damn long time to find one of your camps, but we finally did,” said the man who appeared to lead the group, finally getting over her appearance.  
“We’re here to take your sage hostage. Now please, stand aside.”

She glared and reached out to grab and twist the rebel man’s wrist, but as soon as she did there was a sleek black pistol to her head. Her face lost its otherworldly composure. The grunts could feel themselves shrinking.

“Take us to the sage. NOW! We’ve already wasted enough time arguing about deals!”

Now, N had been watching this happen from behind the tent. Displaced, sideways gears in his head were churning and clunking, whispering things that frightened him. When the intruders threatened his sister, the gears began to scream. He wanted to return so many favors. The amount was irrational. And because fate was cruel, he forced himself out from behind the tent.

“You don’t need the sage! I can give you something better.”

The king removed his hood for all to see.

-

“If what he’s saying is true,” Lenora began as she looked tiredly at her pupil, “then if we kill him we’d be playing into the consul’s hands.”

Cheren found himself nodding slowly, even though he desperately wanted not to believe N. He was completely dumbfounded. 

The look on Marlon’s chiseled face mirrored this sentiment. He was taken aback and had let go of the king’s arm as the muttered story reached its climax. Marlon’s mouth was slightly agape (as it had been for a while now). His fingers rubbed the back of his head nervously. 

He wasn’t sure what to say except, “Dude...”

A pained grimace arched its way across N’s face as his tale came to a close. His eyes were squeezed shut, trapping his regrets inside. Everyone was silent and paid the man no heed. They were still trying to heed his words.

Marlon was the first to break the silence. His eyes lit up with awe and confusion as he spoke, “So, like the consul head gave you those scars? Ah man, that means it’s all true isn’t it? Woah.”

Cheren bit his lip at the odd casualness of his acquaintance’s voice. “Marlon, please,” he warned.

N’s mouth contorted in a way that made Cheren worry the man’s face would shatter. It returned to a small frown when the king forced out, “I don’t ask you to believe me. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe me.”

Unable to make sense of this, Cheren was cut off by Lenora before he could speak up again. She said to N, “Don’t throw away your words so quickly. We have much to debate, but we aren’t going to take what you said lightly.”

A sigh of relief escaped Cheren. Lenora was so much more elegant under pressure than he was, and for this he was grateful. 

N seemed to be buckling in on himself. The frightening scars on his face were no longer visible as he bent toward the ground, curling into a ball. Marlon reached out for his arm again.

“Maybe he’s been away from the doctor for too long,” suggested Marlon worriedly to his companions, “He hit his head pretty hard.”

“I might be…sick,” the green haired man garbled dizzily. A wave of anxious nausea coursed up his spine. 

“Alright, just get him back to Hawes,” commanded Cheren weakly. He was getting tired of this.

Marlon nodded and lifted the nauseous captive upward. 

As they readied to go, Lenora imparted N with these words, “Please, don’t cause another struggle against the guards, N. We are not your enemy anymore.”

An incredulous look returned to Cheren’s face.

-

N awoke to find the doctor, Hawes if he remembered correctly, beside him again. The smallish man was reading a book and had an orange and a water bottle beside him. He seemed surprised when he looked up from his page to see N staring up at him.

“You slept a good eighteen hours,” mused the doctor at the drowsy captive.

N groaned at the large number, causing Hawes to laugh and put his book down.

“You’re probably starving,” noted Hawes, shuffling through his things. “You may be a prisoner, but I’m a doctor. I can’t have my patient go hungry.”

He pulled an apple and a can of cold soup from his satchel. After shaking the can thoroughly and popping its lid like a soda can, he placed the food next to N. The captive rolled on his side to observe the offering. He’d gotten used to simple meals after being at the ex-Plasma camp for a while, and yet he still couldn’t get used to eating regularly. N glared at the food like it was poisoned.

“It isn’t much, I know. But you’re not really in a situation to be picky,” the doctor informed as he picked up his small orange. “None of us are.”

“I’m not starving,” N informed surely. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh?” hummed Hawes as he peeled the orange. 

The citrus smell that escaped from the peel was strong. N could feel his stomach quarreling with his brain. In the end, he knew his brain would win, so he rolled to his other side and pretended the doctor and his offering were not there.

“I’m just not hungry.”

“Say it all you want, but I bet I know more about the human body than you. You need food by now, especially after all that drama you caused yesterday.”  
N wanted the doctor to get up and take his book and food with him. “I can’t eat.”

The doctor’s peeling slowed. His eyes watched N observantly past the rims of his old glasses. “So, you’re hungry, but you can’t eat.”  
N sighed. It wasn’t a question. The doctor understood.

“You’re still too dizzy and nauseous to eat, hm? Well, I’ll leave it there. You can eat when you’re ready.”

“Alright,” N obliged him. 

-

The purple pulse of energy missed its target. Instead, it hit the far wall with a tremendous boom and sent an explosion of rubble, dust, and light inward. The castle shook. Dust particles reflected and refracted the bright daylight that poured in through the new, gaping hole in the wall. Ghetsis sneered as the light temporarily blinded his shrewd, old eyes.

In the fluttering dust and downpour of rubble, N sputtered. He had thrown himself to the left to avoid the malicious attack and had hit the ground hard, only to receive a hail of rubble against his back. He had cupped his hands behind his head to protect himself. His heart railed against his ribs. The dust could only hide him for so long. The shaken king forced himself upward from the ground of his shaken castle.

An ugly grimace replaced the sage’s face when he saw the silhouette rise in the cloud of dust. The figure stood strong, unbroken, and Ghetsis hated it.

“Just give in and die! I will make you revel in your pain if you temp me.”

The dust was almost gone. The king was a vision in dirtied white. Particles of rubble twinkled about him as they filtered back to the outside world. A glazed stare judged the traitorous sage with a mix of emotions Ghetsis couldn’t understand.

“Fire blast! Just get him out of my sights!” 

N could tell there was no way to escape the wave of fire that raged for him. Trapped between the wall to his left and a field of rubble, he hopelessly lunged to the right, tripping on the displaced stones of his castle. The burning light overwhelmed his vision as it crashed down on him.

A wail ripped through the air. The king sunk to the floor, smoldering. Beside him, the remaining part of the back wall smoked. He cried as he smothered his left side against the dusty ground to stop the fire from spreading across his robes. He cried from the burning pain and from many other things. It had been a long time since pain had hurt.

Ghetsis found himself wallowing in pleasure at the sounds of his pathetic puppet’s misery. Yet, something else plagued him, anger rising higher in his chest. His mouth twitched, caught between these two things.

Sobbing, N rose slowly. He could smell his burnt hair. His vision was blurry, and it was near gone in his left eye. Tears only blessed the right side of his face. The other half stung and smoldered. He held his left arm tightly. The robes were gone there, and only charred skin remained. 

“Do you regret living yet? Do you regret ever being born?”

From his unburned eye, he could see Ghetsis readying for another attack. Hydreigon cried an undiscernibly frightening jumble of things. The weary gears clunked in the king’s head. N made a split-second decision. 

“Yes. And I will not give you the pleasure of ending it yourself,” the ruined king declared. “Your dreams are rotten… Farewell.”  
N walked a few steps back to meet the hole in the wall and let gravity embrace him.

-

Hugh put a pebble down. “Three in a row.”

“How do you keep winning?”

He ran his hand through his remaining fluffy black hair. It had been a while, but Rosa still couldn’t get used to the shaved sides of his head. She couldn’t call Hugh qwilfish anymore, and it disappointed her. He said shaving kept him occupied. Rosa couldn’t understand this. She hated shaving and was pleased by the rationing of razor blades in the camp.

“It’s called not putting the O’s in the middle every time. That’s an amateur move.”

Rosa grumbled as she picked up twigs from within their makeshift tic-tac-toe grid drawn in the dirt. “I’m the O’s this time. I’m tired of being the X’s,” she announced as she reached across and started taking Hugh’s stones.

“What’s the difference?” Hugh sighed.

“It means I get to go first and beat you this time.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Are you two bickering over games again?” called a new voice.

The two friends looked up from their game to see Cheren walking towards them. His hair was a mess, as usual, and he wore a regular white button-down. However, he seemed particularly tired today.

“You got us there, fun-police,” said Hugh raising his hands playfully. 

Cheren rolled his tired eyes behind his glasses and sat criss-cross on an empty side of the dirt grid. Despite Cheren being their superior, Hugh and Rosa were always casual with him. He was only two years their elder and they could only see him as a friend, as well as a great person to tease. Cheren never admitted it, but he appreciated their humor at times.

“Ever tried playing with a bigger grid?” Cheren asked.

“Rosa still can’t get a hang of the three-by-three.”

“Hey!” Rosa snapped as she lightly tossed one of the stones into Hugh’s lap.

Hugh lifted the little rock and smiled, “Guess I’m the O’s again next round.”

“No way!” she laughed as she tried to snatch the stone from her friend’s hands.

“Cheren! Hey there!”

The three friends turned their heads. A young blond woman with glasses came bounding towards them.

“Bianca?” Cheren fumbled, flabbergasted. 

When she reached the trio, Bianca caught her breath. A huge grin painted her face. Her big, happy green eyes looked even bigger behind her lenses.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Cheren!” she smiled. “And you have new friends!”

“Bianca,” Cheren said again, still confounded. He stared at the red rims of her glasses.

“Did you forget I was coming with Fennel?” Bianca gasped quietly, now confused too.

Both Rosa and Hugh looked at Cheren with both concern and judgement.

“Ah, oh right,” Cheren breathed in embarrassment. “About the top-secret science thing.” He put his head in his hands and secretly wished to turn invisible.

“Yes. That,” Bianca said. She grinned awkwardly at Cheren’s companions.

Cheren stood up hurriedly and nervously brushed the dirt off his pants. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up with everything…I’m really exhausted,” he admitted. “But let me…let me get things prepared. I’ll go find Lenora.”

With this, he hung his head and quickly shuffled off. Bianca and the two friends watched him go in silence.

“Do you think he’s afraid of me?” Bianca whispered worriedly to them.

“Nah, he’s just embarrassed,” Hugh stated. He failed to keep a goofy grin off his face.

“Yeah, just embarrassed,” Rosa teased, smiling back at Hugh.

Bianca sighed and decided she didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “You’re Rosa and…Huey, correct? The ones we gave starters to a while back?” she redirected.

“It’s Hugh, but you’re close enough,” Hugh responded as Rosa giggled. “And yeah, that was us.”

“Oooh, sorry!” Bianca apologized, knocking on the side of her head. “Silly me. But anyway… how are you liking those cuties?”

“We just came back from hanging out with them, actually,” Rosa perked up. “They’re doing great. I love Snivy!” 

The two friends then exchanged glances, suddenly saddening. 

“But, I really wish I could see Snivy evolve one day,” Rosa remarked quietly. Hugh nodded too, thinking about his own Tepig.

“I know its hard, but we can’t get our hopes up about those things anymore. It’s just not practical. Or safe,” Bianca said solemnly, “If it makes you feel any better, I have a Serperior I could let you meet one day.”

“Oh, would you really let me?” Rosa clapped happily. “I’d really love that! Thank you, Bianca.”

Bianca winked behind her round red glasses. “That’s what I’m here for!”

“You should probably go find Cheren for your secret meeting,” Hugh grinned. “Don’t want to make him too antsy.”

“Ah yes, the top-secret science thing,” she said and winked again. “Oh! You two seem bored with tic-tac-toe. How’s about I let you borrow my card deck?”

Seconds later, Rosa caught a box of cards that Bianca dug from her backpack and tossed towards her. “Oh, sweet!” she exclaimed.

Bianca waved at them as she bounded away to find where ever Cheren disappeared to. “Don’t ruin my cards! I’m not sneaking all the way back to town to buy new ones,” she warned half-jokingly as she went.

Rosa and Hugh quietly played a couple rounds of go fish before Iris found them and joined in. She won quickly by sheer luck, and most likely by Rosa’s horrible shuffling skills. After that, they decided to get more vicious with a game of slap.

“Sandwich!” Iris shouted as she slapped her hand atop the card pile.

“No, it’s not. That’s a nine,” Rosa noted, “Put your cards in.”

“Awwww! I hate sixes and nines.”

As Iris reluctantly added all her cards to the pile and frowned at her now empty hands, an unwelcome guest appeared. Marlon approached the loud card players with a certain brown-haired boy sulking behind him.

“Hey dudes, can we join you?” 

When Rosa recognized the brunette as the intruder boy, the gunman, the savior, she balled her fists and bared her teeth. “Hell no! You’re not welcome here!” she hissed.

Hugh reached out to touch her arm and calm her, but the vicious glare he sent towards the other boy proved he wasn’t calm himself. 

Marlon appeared briefly confused before nervously chuckling, “Oh, you mean the kid. Hey, now. Let’s all just chill and give him a chance. He’s your age, you know.”

Rosa crossed her arms and made the most hideous pouty face she could muster. If the boy was going to stay, she was going to remind him how much she despised him at every chance. Marlon sat down in an empty space in front of the deck, casting a pitiful look at Iris who then shrugged back at him clueless. The brown-haired boy, Nate, stayed close to Marlon and made sure he was closer to Hugh than Rosa.

“What are we playing?” Marlon hesitated.

“Slap,” Iris said quickly before Rosa could spit a nasty remark.

Marlon had never played a slap game this intense. Iris seemed to be the only one having genuine fun, and the glares Rosa sent toward poor Nate gave him the shivers. Hugh completely ignored Nate’s presence, but his slaps were just as violent and intense as Rosa’s. Even Marlon, the proudly muscular athlete, was reluctant to slap in. No laughter or words were exchanged as the cards were placed. Only an occasional “sandwich!” and “double!” were shouted as hands rained down on the deck. Nate never made a move. He was watching intently with his observant brown eyes, satisfied with observing from the sidelines. This only made Rosa angrier.

“You gonna actually play or what?” she growled, flipping another useless card.

“I’d like to keep my fingers, too, thanks.”

“Why you-,” she began. The sudden wave of shock when she realized he’d made a joke stifled the rest of her words. 

The joke was a mean one, but a smile wrinkled onto Marlon’s face as he placed down a card. He wondered if his sense of humor had changed in the past couple of years.

Hugh placed down his last card and sighed. He cast a suspicious look at his neighbor before asking, “And where are you from?”

“Nimbasa,” stated Nate blankly. “Musical central, baby.”

Hugh nodded, impressed. Rosa grumbled.

“I was a subway trainer before…you know. Before everything happened.”

The game of cards froze.

“A subway trainer?” Rosa repeated with confusion. “Then why the hell are you with Plasma?”

“I swear, this’ll be the last time I answer this question,” Nate grumbled, rubbing his hand through his bushy hair. “Those people I was with are not Plasma anymore. They call themselves Truth’s rebels.”

-

Cheren held the strange object in his hand. It was smooth and spherical, glimmering in the lowlight of the closed-off tent. Pinkish mist glittered and twisted within the translucent cage. 

“Dream mist,” Cheren muttered. “How did you get this?”

“We asked some friends,” Bianca smiled.

Fennel nodded, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses, “To our surprise, the Munna families roaming the Dreamyard accepted our request immediately. It seems they despise Plasma as well.”

“Incredible,” Cheren said. He twisted the object in the air, fascinated. 

“So, you think this weapon will give us the advantage?” Lenora asked as she watched Cheren.

Bianca nodded, “Absolutely! Dream mist has many useful properties. It displays the hidden secrets and fears of others. It can be a useful spying tool.”

“Yes, and we are currently developing a weapon that while fire dream mist in large, controlled amounts. The psychological affects will disrupt the enemy. If our side has specially developed masks, we can easily take them out,” Fennel added with delight.

“I admit it’s a bit harsh,” Bianca said nervously as she rubbed her arm. Her face was solemn. Regret wavered in her big green eyes.

Seeing his old friend like this made Cheren ache. The memories of the times they spent studying, playing together, and watching TV and movies with the White siblings were fragments of joy in his otherwise dreary thoughts. He thought about the bubbly Bianca from the time before all this. Innocent, like himself and the siblings. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life, but she had excitement, hope. There was no way she wanted to create tools of destruction.

These feelings caught in his chest and made his eyes sting. He longed for their childhood days. His hand reached out to comfort Bianca, but he brought it back to himself quickly. They weren’t friends like that anymore. Now was not the time.

Just as Cheren morosely began to hand over the innocent, shimmering weapon to Lenora, who had been looking curiously over his shoulder, they were interrupted with utmost urgency.

“Please, Mr. Cheren! There’s an emergency!” cried a young rebel as he tore open the heavy flap of the tent. “There’s an injured person who just arrived. She’s asking for you… she said her name is Hilda.”

The weapon and his train of thought vanished. Lenora caught the globe frantically as Cheren fumbled it, tumbling over the fog that suddenly consumed his brain. He tore out into the open air as fast as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the story getting more convoluted as the chapters lengthen, or does it make more sense now? I can't tell, but the time-skips are starting to bother me. I'm happy that the plot is finally solidifying, at least. I finally have plans for the next chapter... and it's going to be very sad. 
> 
> Note: N's burn scars are totally based off the beta/original design(s) for N.


	5. Situational gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's lots of Cheren. And also lots of sad stuff.
> 
> ((TW: Character death, some violence/fighting))

A dying blue sky looked down at the king. Soft white clouds rolled across the expanse, tinted pink as they traveled towards the dawn. Pale dust flickered in the air. Everything tasted and smelled like iron. It took him a long time to realize he was breathing. Silence rung in his ears, and the soft heaving sound of his chest finally made itself known. Somehow, he was still alive, and the rubble poking him from beneath didn’t feel so soft anymore. Only the multicolor sky appeased his bitterness. 

Shouts and footsteps came from above. The sounds throbbed in his head and his vision blurred. He ached and bled and smelled of charcoal. Tears teased his clear eye. N wouldn’t let Ghetsis have him. He wouldn’t die in the castle. He wouldn’t let the knights take him away again. So, he forced himself up, aching, and dragged himself across the earth on his knees.

Down the hill, the footsteps quickened. Shouts rose louder. The king pretended not to hear their cries as he pulled himself towards the nearby river. From the wilderness he came, and to the wilderness he would return.

-

Cheren barreled through the campground, pushing his way through loitering people without a second to spare for his usual “sorry” or “excuse me”. The young messenger blinked back his surprise and chased after his superior to no avail. He was outmatched by Cheren’s speed and was swallowed helplessly by the crowd, unable to stop the barreling man and redirect him.

Luckily, a clever eye spotted him, and the hurried man felt a hand wrap around his wrist. Cheren clumsily came to a stop, almost pulling the person on top of him before whipping around with worry clouding his deep gray eyes. He was face to face with Burgh. Burgh’s hair looked as frazzled as Cheren felt, and the grim look on the artist’s face didn’t help this feeling.

“This way,” Burgh said with frightening calm.

Cheren merely nodded and let the lankier man lead him by the wrist. People parted for the two leaders as they marched. Their sullen aura repulsed them. Cheren didn’t even notice, focusing intently on Burgh’s swaying curls and the fog in his own head.

They soon arrived at the medic’s. It was a huge covered area. Now, because of the clean, fresh air and good weather, the sides were open. In the cold or storm, it would be sealed up again. The white plastic tents rippled in a light wind. Burgh entered first. Cheren followed cautiously, fearfully.

Among the doctors that were moving about the patients, Hawes was standing. When he saw Burgh and his bespectacled partner, he waved them quietly over. Cheren rushed ahead, unable to contain his worry. Burgh looked down sadly at his pink pants.

“Make sure to be quiet,” Hawes informed softly as he observed the patient on the cot.

Cheren’s lips parted.

In the cot under a stiff white sheet rested a young woman. Hilda White. Cheren recognized her immediately. Her hair was still as curly and long and frizzy as it was when he had known her better. It was matted and dirty in some places. Scrapes and dirt covered her round, brown face. A white bandaged bridged her sharp nose. The way her chest rose and fell beneath the sheet made it look like she was shaking.

It pained Cheren deeply, and he found himself kneeling at the edge of the bed. He looked up at the doctor and helplessly whispered, “What happened?”

“Not quite sure,” sighed Hawes, “I only arrived just recently. She was greeted by some rebels and other doctors got to her first. But… she has a bullet in right shoulder.” 

A gasp caught in Cheren’s throat. Burgh, who had been hovering quietly behind him, put a gentle hand on his back comfortingly.

“We’ll remove it soon, once more doctors arrive,” Hawes informed quickly. “For now, we’ve bandaged it tightly to prevent further blood loss.”

Cheren nodded, letting his head sink weakly. A deep grumbling sound brought his gaze back up shortly after. Both Burgh and Hawes were looking down across the rows of beds to the outside. Craning his neck to see without rising, he saw the large orangey shape of a Pokemon peering in.

It was Emboar. The fiery beast sat worriedly behind a thin pole that held the plastic roof up. She watched Burgh and Cheren with recognition, desiring to approach but unsure if she could fit between the beds. Her nostrils flared as she picked up the scent of her trainer’s old friends.

“Emboar helped Hilda reached the camp, I’ve been told,” Hawes remarked as he looked at the large Pokemon. “Seems pretty worried about her human friend.” 

Skittering sounds soon filled their ears, and Cheren found himself jumping back in surprise when something arrived under the bed. 

Before Cheren could recognize the long-legged creature within the shadow of the cot, Burgh exclaimed a little too loudly, “A galvantula!” 

The artist sunk beside Cheren. It was indeed a galvantula. The spidery creature peeked out from beneath the bed, moving its jaws nervously. Its fuzzy yellow legs and body were covered in brown and red. Cheren reached out to it, and it approached. Hilda never had a galvantula. The only person to have a galvantula was her brother, Hilbert.

Cheren rose slowly, speaking, “Where’s Hilbert? Did he come with her?” 

Hawes merely shrugged. Burgh rose tiredly, using the floor to help himself up. 

Burgh responded as he placed his hand in his tangle of light brown hair, “I’m sorry, I think Hilda and these Pokemon were the only ones that showed up.”

Hilda’s old friend put a hand against his forehead. He pressed hard. Whatever was going on, Cheren didn’t understand it.

The three of them and galvantula stood there quietly for a few minutes. Doctors and nurses filtered in and out, cleaning Hilda’s face with a cloth and preparing her bullet injury. The young woman squirmed in her sleep. Cheren had to look away. When the surgery was ready to start, they were asked to leave.

Emboar was happy to have their company. Cheren leaned sadly against Emboar’s body. It was warm and rough, and it made Cheren feel at peace for a moment. Sadness was replaced with a lonely nostalgia.

“So, Hawes,” muttered Burgh as he lounged next to galvantula. “You’re not helping with the surgery?”

Hawes shook his head and then adjusted his slipping glasses. “I thought you knew,” he smiled. “I only became a doctor after the… system flip. I used to be an archeologist, remember?”

“Ah yes, yes. I guess I forgot,” the curly haired man acknowledged while he waved his hand in front of his face.

They were silent again for a while as they waited. Eventually, Burgh got up and excused himself for other duties. There were things Cheren knew he had to do, but he couldn’t budge. He didn’t want to leave his old friend. Everything else felt pointless. He could feel nostalgia confusing his emotions. 

“So, how’s the captive?” Cheren asked suddenly, trying to disrupt his thoughts.

“Oh?” Hawes seemed confused for a moment. “Oh, you mean N. He’s fine, I suppose. I got him to eat a little. The bugger doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite. I thought he might be sick, but he doesn’t have a temperature.”

Cheren scoffed, “To think he’s being picky and spoiled at a time like this.”

Hawes shook his head, “I don’t think that’s it. He genuinely seems to have no desire to do anything. He seems exhausted, despite the lump on his head settling down.”

“It was a joke,” Cheren sighed. When he considered what the king had told them about his time in the castle, he realized it wasn’t a very good one. He sighed again. He wasn’t about to feel bad about that on top of everything else.

-

“Tepig and I make the best duo!”

“Can it, Hilda. You’ve only known each other for like… four hours,” grumbled Cheren as his oshawott gnawed on his finger.

“Yeah, and we beat both you and Bianca,” the girl replied smugly as she stroked the orange piglet in her arms. Tepig looked particularly smug too.

“You’re right,” Cheren grinned back at her, “You look just like Tepig.”

Hilda gasped with great exaggeration, “Are you saying I look like a pig?”

“Absolutely.”

Tepig oinked in offense and the two friends laughed.

“I think you’re beautiful, Piggy. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

A buzzing sound went off from Hilda’s wrist.

“Hello?” she said as she tapped the small screen of her Xtransceiver. 

On the screen appeared the smiling image of boy with curly brown hair. He called out, “Hey, hey! How’s my favorite little sister doing?”

“Hilbert? I’m you’re only sister,” she teased, struggling to see the screen on her wrist while hugging her starter Pokemon at the same time. “I’m totally gnarly, how about you?”

“Gnarly? Oh my god, you are the worst.”

Cheren leaned in to peek at the screen. As he did, his oshawott slipped from his arms and climbed up his shoulder. The soft blue otter proceeded to mess with his trainer’s glasses.

“Hey, Bert,” Cheren greeted as he coolly tried to move oshawott away from his face.

“Oh! An oshawott!” Hilbert exclaimed, “Nice choice, Cheren. Following along in my footsteps, I see?”

“You wish,” Cheren struggled as he attempted to remove oshawott’s clamped jaw from his glasses. “And I’m starting to regret it.”

They heard Hilbert’s loud laughter vibrate from the device. 

“I got Tepig, just to spite you,” grinned Hilda as she shoved her precious new friend at the screen. Piggy oinked a greeting.

“Nah, I totally knew you were getting Tepig. You’re both so similar.”

Hilda looked unimpressed as she pulled Tepig away from the camera, “Oh really? Don’t you dare say it’s because of our faces.”

“You’re both fiery spirits. Your temper is just horrible.”

“Oh, EXCUSE ME?” Hilbert’s sister flared, half-jokingly. Tepig snorted indignantly and Cheren was laughing.

“Well, sorry for interrupting your adventure. Mom told me to check up on you,” Hilbert said as he shifted his own screen, causing his image to shake. “Have fun ‘running away’. I’ve gotta go to class.”

“Did you just use air quotes?” Cheren mocked.

“Uh, ew?” Hilda joined in, making the worst fake teenage voice she could muster.

Hilbert’s image shook as he rose and said quickly, “Oh, well then. I see how it is! I’m out!”

His image went to black and the call ended.

-

As Cheren sat silently next to his old friends’ Pokemon, waiting, he found himself replaying the memories of before and during his journey. He remembered how both he and Bianca always knew where to find Hilda when she was upset. She would be down at the beach, tossing stones from the shore into the cold water. He felt guilty about all the times the two girls would invite him to sleepovers, but he had been too insecure to accept. Every day was like a sleepover now, away from home in a strange, uncomfortable place. He wanted to remember what good sleepovers felt like. He wanted to hear Hilda and Bianca carelessly argue over movie plots while popcorn popped in the background. Hilbert would definitely try to steal their snacks. 

During his reminiscing, he dozed off for a solid half-hour, only to be awoken by Hawes and another doctor. 

“It’s done now. She’s in pain, but she wants to see you.”

Woozy with sleep and good memories, he wandered back among the rows of beds with the doctors. Hilda’s eyes were squeezed shut, and she clenched her jaw to relieve herself of the pain. Her shoulder was freshly wrapped but would soon needed to be changed again. Red blood could be seen working its way up the layers of gauze. 

“Hilda?” Cheren said breathlessly.

Her blue eyes opened wide at his voice. They were icier than he remembered.

“Cheren?” she seemed shocked to see him. He wondered how different he looked to her now. 

He nodded slowly, approaching her side. 

Before he could reach out to her, she fully grasped his presence and let out a strangled gasp, “Cheren!” Her eyes were welling up with tears and her chest stopped rising mid-breath.

“Cheren!” she sobbed, “Hilbert is dead.”

-

The air that blew from the bay was chilly, but Cheren didn’t care. He let the cold breeze roll over him as he sat on his doorstep. His parents hadn’t returned home yet. Even though he had a key hidden in his backpack, he had no desire to let himself in. Stuffy indoor air wasn’t good for clearing his head.

“Hey, my man! What’re you doing hanging outside for?” 

Cheren wasn’t expecting anyone to see him. The world had felt so quiet and lonely that he had almost forgotten other people lived right next door. Looking up miserably, he saw Hilbert standing in the corner of his lawn. The older boy was wearing a snug gray hoodie, a blue plaid flannel peeking out from the bottom. His jeans were covered in grass stains from playing with his dog outdoors.

When Cheren did nothing but glare, Hilbert approached worriedly. Cheren moved his dark gaze to the ground.

“Hey, you alright?” Hilbert asked his neighbor softly. He stuffed his hands into his warm hoodie pocket awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Cheren lied in a flat tone, “just forgot to take my key.”

Hilbert wasn’t buying it. He shifted on his big red sneakers and pretended to play along. Sitting down next to his friend on the doorstep, he remarked, “Stinks. It’s cold outside, wanna come to my house for some hot chocolate?”

Cheren looked away when his neighbor sat down beside him. He knew he was being obvious, but he didn’t care. Tugging his blue coat tighter around himself, Cheren kept his mouth shut. He just wanted Hilbert to go away already.

“You’re totally mad at me,” Hilbert decided, leaning back to give Cheren space. “I get it, I really do.”

Cheren didn’t believe him.

“You don’t want me to leave you alone with the girls, right?” Hilbert chuckled weakly. “Hey, they’re not that bad!”

“I know that!” Cheren retorted, still looking away. He had broken his promise of silence.

Hilbert sighed, looking away too with his brown eyes. 

“Yeah, I know you know,” he admitted. “Still, I know its gonna be hard on you without your only dude friend. I’d tell you to make more, but I’d be an ass for saying that. I know how it is for you.”

Hearing Hilbert swear for once made Cheren crack a smile. He turned his head toward his friend, managing to look at him for a brief second.

“Maybe going on a journey now is selfish, but I’m just so excited. I can’t wait,” smiled Hilbert sheepishly, turning back to Cheren. “Plus, if I joined you guys in a few years, I’d just drag you down. Having an old man like me would be such a bummer.”

“No way,” Cheren laughed weakly, his voice wobbling with a happy sort of sadness. 

“And while I’m traveling, I’m totally gonna grow a ‘fro. You won’t even recognize me when I call you guys up,” Hilbert teased. “If I went with you, Hilda would stop me from growing it out.”

Cheren was laughing strongly now. 

“You better call us a lot. I wanna see that afro.”

-

The group put their vicious slap game on a hold.

“Truth’s rebels? What kinda sucky name is that?” noted Rosa.

Iris had been trying to ignore this conversation (fearing for her sanity), but the girl in the pink t-shirt leaned in and added, “Yeah. I thought the Citizen’s Rebellion was bad, but that’s kinda worse?”

Nate shrugged, frankly flabbergasted that that was the main problem they had with it, and said “I guess they were in a rush to rename?”

“Three years is a damn long time to rush.”

“Ah…well, Nate,” Marlon interrupted clumsily. He wasn’t ready for a fight to start. “Would you be alright telling them how you ended up with the Truth’s rebels?”

The face Marlon made as he fumbled that last bit only confirmed how sucky the name was.

“Alright,” Nate sighed, shaking out his fluffy hair to wake himself up. “I’m not saying it more than once.”

Iris scooted forward in excitement. She put her hands in her lap and leaned in. Iris was one of the youngest rebel’s in the camp at the mere age of fourteen. Her guardian, Drayden was the head of the east sector, and she had tagged along to busy herself with chores and message carrying. Her favorite thing to do was to tell stories and to listen to them. If a new rebel joined, she’d be one of the first to pester their story out of them.

Nate decided to play along and leaned in too, pretending he was about to share a secret. Rosa rolled her blue eyes and stayed put. An ugly sneer remained on her face as the intruder began his story. 

“Nimbasa, where I used to live, became a big refuge for those displaced by the Outer Vacancy Law. Everyone had to share their houses with strangers, and tents filled up the theme park and inside gear station. Gear station was still allowed to run, but of course, the battles had to stop. I pretty much lost my job, but I still hung around to hand out water and food and stuff.”

“Aw, nice guy,” Rosa muttered sarcastically.

Marlon looked sympathetically at Nate, who chewed his lip and moved on quickly, “Since there was no where I could go to get space, not even my own house most of the time, I would sometimes leave town and walk down the bike trail by Lostlorn forest. I would often wander into the forest itself because of how quiet it was.”  
He stopped to smile nervously before continuing, “I admit that wasn’t smart… it being Lostlorn and all. The place is a maze, and with all the newly displaced and upset Pokemon, it was probably dangerous. I mean…yeah, it was dangerous. One day I was being particularly spiteful and got very lost. I fell into a deep ditch and twisted my ankle. No one else really hung around those parts, so I though I wouldn’t get found for a long while.”

“So, let me guess?” said Hugh with boredom, running his hand through his hair, “That’s where your Plasma rebel friends camped out, and they found you there.”

Nate shook his head slyly, “No, but you’re close. A Zoroark found me.”

“Sweet! A Pokemon!” chimed in Iris excitedly.

“Zoroark dragged me out of the ditch and helped me find my way to the camp nearby,” Nate confirmed. “An older man named Rood, the head of the camp, welcomed me and his friends fixed me up. They told me their story, about what was really going on within the new government. I was too stunned not to believe them.”

“A bunch of Plasma’s with a Pokemon,” Rosa scoffed, stretching out her bulky arms and yawning. “What a bunch of hypocrites.” 

“Well, they are rebelling against Plasma. I suppose being hypocrites was the point,” noted Nate cooly. “Besides, its not like it was any Zoroark. It was King N’s.”

The group exchanged glances. Marlon crossed his arms and gave a satisfied nod as Nate wrapped himself up. However, Nate wasn’t ready to be done. The boy leaned in closer. 

“It’s really such a shame none of you know what’s actually going on in the castle,” Nate taunted seriously, “If you did, maybe your rebellion would stop running in circles and stop harassing innocent people.”

“Pardon?” Rosa snarled, slamming her fist close to the pile of cards between them. Finally, she leaned in and spat, “Speak up, you little rat.”

“Nate,” warned Marlon with a low growl as he grabbed the boy’s arm. 

Marlon himself had learned the truth from N, and then again from Nate that morning. The truth was not meant to be heard by other ears just yet. So, for someone who had broke down at the thought of harming another person, Nate had a lot of nerve to continue speaking while being threatened by a larger, more muscular man.

“You’ll be thanking me later that I stopped you from killing N,” a smile curled on the boy’s face. He could already regret what he was saying, imagining a punch to the jaw, but he couldn’t stop himself. His words felt too self-righteous compared to what was inside his head. “If you had, let’s just say…you’d all be royally screwed.”

Rosa surrendered her remaining composure and lunged at Nate.

-

N was surprised that the doctor left him alone. Someone had called him out for an emergency, and that had been that. The spectacled man said nothing as he vanished from view. Kindness was something the doctor claimed to have. The king was convinced the doctor was either too naïve, or up to no good. There were the two guards, of course, but he had seen the observant look on Hawes’ face when he waited beside him. The king hated it, but the doctor was onto him. N wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up his kingly act. Watching the clouds move outside, he wondered if he was keeping it up at all.

The two guards seemed to be playing checkers. Voices quiet, they kept up a conversation inaudible to their prisoner. N wondered if they noticed him staring. If they did, they didn’t seem to care. His bad eye could’ve been playing tricks on him, but he swore one of the checkers was a bottle cap. And another looked like a rock. It was silly, but he wished they would let him play.

While he mused about makeshift checkers and the remaining contents of his cold soup, he could feel himself getting nauseous again. He grumbled as he turned around in his sheet. It was impossible to tell whether he was still hungry or sick from the food he’d been given. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had been poisoned. The king curled up tighter and hid his face beneath the sheet, waiting to see if poison would kick in. 

Something else kicked in first. Movement erupted outside, and someone burst through the tent’s opening, scattering the unsuspecting guards’ checker game everywhere with a clatter. The guards shot upward as the person stumbled over the game, muttering swears, and straightened back up.

N peered weakly over the edge of the sheet to see the black-haired young man from last night standing before him. Cheren looked furious. His face was pink and sticky, and for a moment N thought he was sick or sweaty. He realized quickly that he had been crying.

Before the captive could discern anything else, Cheren charged at him accusingly, “N Harmonia!”

In a blur, N felt Cheren lunge forward and grab a fistful of his long, green hair. He was pulled upward from his resting position with a harsh jolt. Now, he was face-to-face with Cheren. It happened too fast and he was too close. The fear on the captive king’s face was palpable.

“N Harmonia!” shouted Cheren as he shook the king by his hair, “Who did you contact? TELL ME! What the hell did you do?”

N had his arms clutched to his chest defensively. The shaking and the loud voice made him tremble. Unable to think of what he had possibly done wrong sleeping all day, he managed only a distressed string of, “What…what…what?”

Cheren was fed up with N. He was fed up with everything: this camp, the rebels, the government, this country, his duties. It was all because of the man in front of him. With his free hand, he grabbed the scarred side of the king’s face and forced him to look in his eyes. He violently shook him again.

“You lead them this way, DIDN’T YOU? You lying piece of – we captured you and walked right into your trap! You dirty snake!”

N was bewildered and terrified. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what Cheren was going on about. His ears were ringing, and he was dizzy. If there was poison in that food, he hoped it would kick in soon.

“What is it? What is it!” he cried erratically.

Cheren threw the distraught man down with tremendous force. The wind was knocked from N, his head and limbs lolling. Finally, the two startled guards decided to move in and pull Cheren back. Their superior did not resist. He looked alarmed, hands shaking as he watched the winded captive come to and swallow harsh gulps of air as he tried to calm himself. N hugged himself and began to rock ever-so-slightly. Gibberish that Cheren could almost believe was the periodic table of elements whisked quietly from the shaking man’s mouth. 

“Please stand down, Sir,” hesitantly muttered the guard to his right.

“Alright,” Cheren sniffed. His eyes and nose were watering again. He didn’t want to feel sorry, but he did.

If N wasn’t a liar, he felt even worse.

-

“Hilbert is dead.”

It was too hard to take that in. Cheren’s face went blank. Hilda was crying softly, tears spilling out of her eyes as she tried hard not to clutch her wound. He couldn’t believe Hilda was here. He couldn’t believe Hilda was in front of him, crying. There was no way he could believe what she was saying.

“What,” Cheren said flatly. His dark eyes watched something invisible beyond the horizon.

“Hilbert,” she sobbed.

A doctor put her cool hand on Hilda’s hot forehead for comfort. “Shhhh, don’t work yourself up now,” she hushed. 

Cheren watched the nurse comfort his old friend blankly. He felt like he was in a mirage.

“Cheren, I couldn’t do anything,” Hilda trembled, reaching out a tired hand to him. “Those officials…they had guns that were faster…I couldn’t stop them.”

He stared at the gesture through his glasses. He was unsure of what to do.

“Cheren please,” his old friend begged, bobbing her hand.

Mindlessly, he reached out and took her hand at last. He merely stared, so she pulled him in. Cheren found his head on her good shoulder. Her warm, scratched face rested on the back of his head. He felt cold and frightened by the nothingness that consumed him.

Despite the nothingness, tears eventually found their way down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so sad...I'm glad I go this part over with. It's destroying my feelings currently. Like...yikes...I'm so sorry, Hilbert. Someone had to go, though.


End file.
